As Steady and As Bright
by ReWhite
Summary: It's a little like that first time with Dick; all of the urgency and none of the fear.


**As Steady and as Bright**

By Re White

Fandom: Green Arrow (comic)  
Written for: kHo in the Yuletide 2007 Challenge

**Disclaimer**: All characters and associated trademarks are property of DC comics.

**Rating and Warnings**: Explicit adult content.

**Spoilers**: None - Insert your own pretext gentle fangirl.

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The house Ollie lives in now is big enough that you actually have to search a little to find someone if they aren't within yelling distance. Roy's not exactly sure what he's looking for when he starts up the stairs, but he's not really itching to fight Mia for use of the basement gym just yet. Ollie's down at the youth center, being a big fat Not Dad and Lian's at her karate class, kicking ass and taking names as only the four year old daughter of a vigilante can. So.

So that just leaves Connor. Not that he really expects the guy to...well, entertain him, -Roy's an adult for Christ's sake- but. But he's not in his room. Or the library.

The thing about the house is that it only looks like a glossy page ripped out of a Better Homes' magazine the first time you see it. Once the shock of seeing actual window treatments wears off, it starts to look like just another place where people live. Scuff marks on the walls, greasy finger prints on the mirrors, the occasional stack of mail and junk on random tables. Foot traffic has beaten down a path into the relentlessly beige wall to wall carpeting. It's the little, non-vigilante related things that make Ollie's house look less like a jigsaw of various showroom displays and actually like a place where there are fights, laughter and left over pizza; where there's an honest to god family.

Roy thinks they're all going to be pretty bummed when someone eventually blows the place up.

When Roy passes the second floor bathroom, he pauses and draws an arrow on the mirror with a piece of soap. Pretty much all the bedrooms have their own bathroom, but for some reason, they all end up using this one. The counter is a mess of combs, creams, mysteriously unmarked canisters of goop, and a lone bottle of bubble bath in the shape of a fat, bald Buddha. The drawers are packed with a hundred boxes of band aids and tiny shampoo bottles from hotels around the world. He has no idea who started collecting them, but stealing single use bottles of shampoo between saving the world and getting shot at has become a weird tradition. Their own quirky ass gallery of trophies crammed into a drawer in Ollie's bathroom. Not as impressive as a giant penny or Mr. Freeze's gun, but Roy likes it.

When he steps back into the hall he notices the door next to Ollie's study is open, there's a quality to the light spilling out that lets Roy know there's someone inside.

The room is mostly wall to wall shelves packed full of music, a lot of them vinyl because there are parts of Ollie still hopelessly stuck in the 70s. A behemoth of a stereo system lurks against one portion of the wall, and a black leather sofa's tucked under the only window. Connor is sitting in the middle of the floor wearing a pair of headphones plugged into the turn table, a little stack of records sitting next to him.

He's not really singing along or anything, but his head is nodding along to a beat, and there's a sway in his spine that Roy spends a couple of minutes studying from the door way. After a second Roy closes the door and slinks up behind Connor. Who totally and completely fails to turn around and notice him.

There's an indistinctive buzz of music humming through the headphones, and Connor's body is rocking a little.

The thing is, it's hard to get the jump on Connor. He's the only non-Bat Roy knows who has all the awareness of a Gotham vigilante and none of the psychosis. He's usually too good for any of them to sneak up on anymore, so...

So it's kind of a thrill to sit down in front of him and just watch. Connor's hair has grown out since coming back from the island, and he's taken to pulling most of it back in a rubber band, but the bangs don't really stay put. They fall around Connor's face, framing his closed eyes in this wispy little half circle of blonde that Roy's been seeing a lot of, just recently, in his jerk fantasies.

He's thought about this. About how to tell Connor what's going on inside his head because he doesn't think it's a fluke or just some fleeting dirty thought he uses to get him self off when he can't sleep. He wants Connor. And while just walking up to him naked strikes Roy - **all** of Roy- as an awesome idea, he heard about the incident with Crackshot. And he isn't sure Connor wouldn't just think he was under alien control and knock him out anyway.

And since he's feeling a little like a chicken shit, just saying, "I want your ass, please let me sex you up," is out of the question, whittling his options down to stalking the guy, and Dick would maybe be proud, but it's not getting him any closer to what he wants.

Eyes closed, Connor sings a little, hums, breathy and mostly noiseless. It's a bit like playing with fire, or chicken with Batman, for Roy to bring his hand up and trace the air just beyond Connor's mouth, to feel his breath on the pads of Roy's fingers. Gives him the same tingle of excitement and fear that masturbating in Ollie's bed used to. Roy smiles to himself, far enough past feeling fucked up over that to find it funny now (it's just one more thing he owes Grace really, and maybe, just maybe, Dick, too). Connor's mouth parts on a half murmured word and Roy catches a glimpse of wet pink tongue.

It's nothing like seeing Connor naked, but it kind of is. Connor's body is like one big secret that Roy hasn't figured out yet. If he closed the distance, slipped his thumb in, would Connor bite or suck? If Roy pressed his mouth to just below his jaw, would Connor moan? Or would he need Roy to inch a little lower, to say, his adam's apple, to make it good? It breaks Roy's brain a little when Connor, caught up in the song, makes a half smile and tips his head back, obviously rocking out in his own head, unselfconscious and yeah. Naked.

Roy's dick wants him to know he's totally perving on this, and it's going to be damn problematic when he gets hard. Harder. The sane, mostly reasonable voice in his head that has, and always will, sound a little like Hal, lets him know that he's being kinda...weird and Batish here. The thought's enough to sort of bring him back to himself, a jump kick of sanity in what was turning into a vaguely creepy fit of voyeurism - it jumps the rails, though, when Connor suddenly opens his eyes.

The wide, startled look on his face is probably a lot like the one on Roy's own face. It's a hell of a lot like getting caught spank'n it - that raw "oh shit" sort of explosion in his head and the accompanying sense that he's a fucking idiot along with it. Some part of him has to be okay with that because what he does next is probably stupid, but doesn't seem to stop him.

He goes for it. It's the first time he kisses Connor and it's like that first time he took down a thug with just one shot. Just...whoosh. A shock through his system, and a thrill up his spine.

Connor goes that variety of still that means really pretty violence is about to go down. There's a moment, where his completely ecstatic and royally freaked out brain thinks he's about to get his ass handed to him.

And then Connor crushes his mouth against Roy's - like maybe he's trying to get to Roy's heart through his mouth- arms tangling awkwardly around Roy's shoulders. They knock into the pile of records before Connor manages to climb up Roy, kissing hurried and artlessly as he straddles Roy's lap.

Connor's hands thread through his hair as he pushes Connor's shirt up under his armpits. He yelps when Roy thumbs a nipple, and he pants, high in his throat, when Roy pinches. Its mean, really mean, to tweak Connor's nipple just to feel him shudder. Roy _remembers_ what it was like to be young and inexperienced, but he's waited too long to have this to be nice about it.

There's something hot and wild about having Connor in his arms, feeling him harden through his jeans. Makes him think this might be the beginning of the end for old Roy-boy, because Connor's moving now, and kissing Roy like maybe he's been waiting for this too long too.

They tumble to the carpet, groping along the way and the roll pulls the headphones out of the stereo. It's the Kinks playing in the background, telling him Champaign tastes like cherry cola. Connor tastes like green tea and Roy is going to hell. He squirms a hand between them, and down into Connor's jeans because his brain is firing on none of the cylinders which would tell him how to undo a button and work the zip. He wants _in_, now.

The headphones slide out of true on Connor's head, ear muffs riding down his cheeks as he rolls his head back and forth, mouth wide open and gasping as Roy inches his hand down, through the hair, to take him in hand. Roy, really, really doesn't have the room to get a proper -get a **good**- stroke in, but god. Circling the pad of his thumb around the head of Connor's dick makes him buck, right up off the floor. Suddenly it's the most awful thing in the world that he can't hear Connor's noises over the flood of music. There's a part of Roy's brain pointing out he could _fix_ that, but...the other can't believe he's getting this, and is too afraid of loosing it if he stops.

Connor's mouth opens right up when Roy goes down for it, and it's the best. The hottest. Thing, ever. He sucks on Connor's tongue, awkwardly stroking him, getting his hand wet and messy with pre-come. He can feel Connor struggling to find the rhythm, trying to get it the way he needs it. Roy's gut clenches and he moans - licks, sucks -into Connor's mouth.

He's not ready for it when the song ticks off, and suddenly, he can hear Connor again.

The sound of panting makes him squeeze Connor's dick reflexively, and it's exactly like a hummer of happy to the spine when Connor closes his eyes and keens.

"Oh, fuck, Connor." Roy bends down and licks Connor's Adam's apple, feels hands knotting in his hair, and the nervous, sex-selfish jerk of Connor's hips. It's a little like that first time with Dick, with all of the urgency but none of the fear.

"Please, please, I need-" There's a click from the turn table and the song's intro plings back in through the speakers, muffling the rest.

Roy can't do better, do more, than ride the unsteady rocking of Connor's thigh, and jerk him hard, in the tight little cave of Connor's jeans, which have to be torture on his balls right now. Roy knows his own pants are way past being strangulation. He's going to do something about that soon, real soon when he's not sucking a hickey at the apex of Connor's neck and shoulder until Roy can't really taste anything but his own spit. He slides his thumb across the slick crown of Connor's dick, and presses an "a" and "b" note into the shaft before untangling his hand from around Connor. They both fumble at the button of his jeans, getting each other's fingers sticky, and matters derail when Roy has to bend down and suck Connor's index finger. Roy kind of has to hope it's enough of a message, a warning, because he knows exactly what he wants once he gets the pants off.

It feels amazing to laugh around Connor's fingers as he goes down, good, and a little dirty. Roy lets the finger slip from his mouth with a wet pop neither of them can hear over the guitar, and goes for the pants, not bothering for finesse - next time, he promises - as he yanks them down and off. The jeans hit the couch, and the boxers make it into a tangle around Connor's left ankle.

Settled between Connor's legs, Roy stares because he can. Connor is dark, slick, and uncut - nothing he hasn't actually seen in the shower, but it's different now that Roy has permission, or something like it. Roy nuzzles his groin, enjoying the itchy catch of Connor's hair on his cheek, and the hot silky skin of his sac. At first, Roy can't make himself do anything more artful than flatten his tongue against the length of him, and lick up, memorizing the taste, the feel. He wants to remember how it tastes, later, when maybe Connor decides this is a bad idea and he never gets to do it again. Connor's hips jerk, thighs trembling, as Roy swallows around him. He sucks as Connor's hands claw, lightly, at his cheekbones, in his hair. Looking up is a mistake of the best kind, because he can see what he's doing to Connor now. Can watches, a little awkwardly, as Connor's head twists back and forth, teeth at his lip.

There's a pounding on the door that makes Connor's entire body jump, but Roy keeps right on sucking, too greedy and sex-stupid to pull off. Connor is hot and hard on his tongue, bumping the back of his throat and it's a great time to know that Grace fucked the last visages of inhibition and gag reflex right out of him.

"Jesus fuck!" It's Mia's voice hollering above the chorus, beating her fist against the door. Roy's heart seizes and stutters, even as he goes down. "How many fucking times do you have to hear that fucking song!"

He plants one hand on Connor's sweaty hip, and rakes the other up Connor's abs. That makes the hand in his hair tighten, and Connor pulls hard enough that Roy actually has to go with it or risk injury. He pulls off enough that the head of Connor's dick just kind of slides and bobs there on Roy's bottom lip. It's good to simply hang there for a moment, spit and pre-come running down his chin. He waits for it, for Connor to look down at him, before sliding his tongue out to tease the slit. Connor's eyes, wide and panicked, go hazy, before he squeezes them shut and let's go of Roy's hair so he can bite on his own fingers. The filthiest, Grace-intensive part of Roy's brain knows, right down to his aching nads, just how this looks. Dirty. Beautiful.

The part of Roy that's been trained and down right beaten into paying _attention_ notes that Mia has either given up entirely on bitching about the music or has left to grab a power tool.

Roy cups Connor's thighs, squeezes, and feels him flex hard, just before Roy takes him in his mouth again. And - there, the song ticks off and oh fuck, Connor is loud. Roy's own dick is throbbing, and he can't really help but reach down and palm himself, rough and awkward as he fucks Connor with his mouth. The pause in the music isn't nearly long enough before the Kinks loop back in. Before Roy can do anything but hum encouragement, Connor is coming, splashing down his throat, salty and bitter. It's greedy, to suck harder, but he wants more. Everything, of anything.

Connor is pliant when Roy tugs him up into a sitting position, flushed and breathing shakily. Roy's dick really kind of killing him, and he can't really help rocking against Connor a little - he's not ready for the moan that just sort of tumbles out of him, and he guesses Connor isn't either, because the sound makes him gasp. For a moment, they just look at each other, the Kinks rocking in the background.

Connor, straddling his lap, looks mussed and... he looks, not angry, but. "Hungry," he says, stupidly. The music is too loud for him to really be able to properly hear himself. But maybe Connor reads his lips, and catches it anyway. And maybe for him, it's enough like permission to move, because there's suddenly tongue. Tongue, right in his ear and he loves that, loves it more when Connor bites.

He tugs the headphones from Connor's neck as his mouth slides down his cheek to his mouth. Roy's brain is shot, but his aim is still working because when he throws the headphones, they hit the turn table, and Ollie's going to be pissed about breaking it, but the hell with it, Connor's hands are yanking the button of his jeans open.

It's all kinds of uncomfortable in the position they're in, when Connor pulls open his pants and takes him in hand. He really needs to be up on his knees for this, catch some leverage, so he can thrust the way he wants to, but the thought crumbles at the first real stroke - hard, and not fast enough.

Connor is watching his face with a weirdly intense fascination, like Roy's a new and interesting kata he's determined to memorize. "Fuck Connor - faster." When Roy moans Connor bites his own bottom lip, eyebrows furrowing in concentration, hands speeding up. His knuckles knock against Roy's abdomen, and without the music on anymore he can hear every wet dirty sound Connor strokes out of him. Roy's hips jerk gracelessly, and he can't manage anything like smooth, not when Connor leans in and nips at his lip.

Roy doesn't know if it's embarrassing or a relief to know he just isn't going to last that long. He doesn't have time to decide, because the orgasm hits him, and his spine tries to curl into it's self, and then it's just white out.

When Roy finally opens his eyes Connor is looking at his hand, a ribbon of come on his fingers, like he can't believe it belongs to him. Roy's opens his mouth, about to say something, but the words sink back down his throat when Connor closes his eyes and licks his palm. It's not the first time Roy's seen someone do that, but it's startling to see Connor do it. Breaks something very important in his head and he can't actually manage to do anything but stare until he's done.

When his hand is finally clean, Connor leans forward, hesitantly, and brushes his thumb along Roy's mouth. Smiling is the right thing to do because Connor smiles back.

"Hi."

Their foreheads touch, and it's weird but also kind of right to just breathe Connor's breath for moment, before Connor pulls away and says, "Hi," back.

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End file.
